HUMOR
A Day In The Life of My Handsome, Tortured Stalker
Because predation is chill when it’s at the hands of someone sexy
8:00 am — I wake up at the top of the hour. The reliability of my internal clock is challenged only by my devotion to you.
8:02 am — I drag myself out of my frameless twin bed and head to the bathroom. One look in the mirror and I am greeted with the consequences of last night’s rough-housing with the neighborhood blokes. My bruised eye and slashed jaw should make me look hideous, but considering my uncanny resemblance to 2010s boy-band sensation Zayn Malik, these warrior marks only enhance the seductive allure of my bad boy charm. Some might call me handsome, but my Vietnam-Veteran father taught me that self-love is for Commies. So here I stand dejected by my own image, knowing deeply that I could never show my face to you.
8:05 am — Like most days, I resign my self-deprecating thoughts to a far back corner of my psyche, a coping mechanism I desperately wish I was less skilled in, and set out on my daily motorcycle ride to your apartment. As the cold wind pierces my tanned skin, I am reminded of the eternal pain I feel in my longing for you.
8:25 am — I arrive at your apartment. Why such a goddess would reside in a building reminiscent of…
